


Aberration

by sonata_de_morte



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonata_de_morte/pseuds/sonata_de_morte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fullmetal,” Mustang breathes, and that’s good. Good that they are still Mustang and Fullmetal, people who used to work together who have somehow fallen into bed. It’s too much, too personal, if they have somehow become Roy and Ed because this is only going to happen once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Part Where Nothing Happens. Nope. No. Nothing.

Looking back, Ed isn’t sure how he got here.

The last thing he had expected when he left the library on Friday afternoon was to end his day pressed against the wall of Roy Mustang’s living room, one arm around the man’s neck and the other one fighting with the truly stupid amount of buttons on the uniform Mustang is wearing.

He remembers the bar.

Remembers Havoc outside smoking, hailing him as he walked by and then proceeding to tease him mercilessly until he’d rolled his eyes and followed him inside.

He remembers thinking that one drink couldn’t hurt, and that it was strange to see Team Mustang outside of the office. That it was strange to see Mustang himself leaning against the bar with a drink in his hand, flirting shamelessly with one of the waitresses, grace and confidence in every line of his body.

He remembers thinking that it was even more strange that alcohol made the man look different. Less up himself and more…relaxed. More human. And he remembers the flare of…something that had taken up residence in his stomach when those dark eyes had turned on him where he was sandwiched between Havoc and Fuery, clutching his beer and laughing at something Breda had said.

He remembers them convincing him to stay.

He remembers ordering another drink. And then three more.

From there it is all hazy bits and pieces. The heat of the room, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The way Mustang had left the bar and came over to the table and started talking alchemy with him. Hands. Arms against the table. Drawing arrays in the condensation from his drink. Mustang’s foot against his under the table. The cold of the wind as they left, all drunker than was strictly advisable. Mustang calling a cab.

But how he got from the curb in front of the bar to Mustang’s living room is a mystery, and when one of Mustang’s dexterous hands, still –oh god—still clad in the rough fabric of his ignition glove, works its way down into the front of Ed’s pants, figuring out how he got there is the least of his worries.

Because it’s really, really good.

Ed should have known that Mustang would be a fantastic kisser. He’s learned already that the rumors about the man are sometimes greatly exaggerated, but his prowess when it comes to these sorts of things is apparently one of those bits that is based in fact.

Their lips clash and clash again, teeth nipping at sensitive lips and tongues tangling. Ed finally gets enough of those damnable buttons undone that he can lay his hand flat on Mustang’s chest, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his undershirt.

He has just had the thought that they are wearing far too many clothes when Mustang breaks away from his mouth and starts raining kisses from his cheeks to his neck.

Apparently, the area above his pulse point is ridiculously sensitive, because Ed’s back arches, and he makes a low sound of enjoyment, fingers clenching against Mustang’s chest.

“This…fuck, this doesn’t mean I like you,” he manages to get out, not giving one single fuck how breathless he sounds because he can feel Mustang’s heart pounding against his hand where it still rests.

“I didn’t expect that it would change your mind,” Mustang replies in that smirky bastard voice that implies that that is exactly what he expected.

“Good,” Ed shoots back, just because he can. “Because…because this isn’t going to happen again.”

Mustang pulls back from Ed’s neck and pins him with eyes that smolder. “Then we had better make it count. Don’t you agree?”

And yeah. Ed does agree.

* * *

He somehow loses more time between the living room and the bedroom, and suddenly he is naked and being pushed unceremoniously onto the bed. And it just fucking figures that Roy Mustang would have this…massive, regal _confection_ of a bed. There are crisp white sheets and a warm looking comforter in a dark grey color, and enough pillows that Ed is seriously concerned that he might drown in them if he lays back.

It’s so much softer than the one Ed sleeps in in the small apartment he shares with his brother, and Ed glares down at it drunkenly, thinking mean thoughts about it until Mustang is also naked and climbing on top of him.

Because it’s kinda sorta really hard to think mean thoughts when Mustang is naked and smells good and so fucking close.

Somehow the man’s hands are _everywhere._

In his hair, at his rib cage, sliding down to cup his ass and squeeze. They aren’t talking, and the room is mostly silent but for their harsh breathing.

Ed allows himself to touch as well because fuck it, if they’re only doing this once, he’s getting his goddamned equivalent exchange. He smooths his hands over the planes of Mustang’s back and then brings them around to the front, fingers tracing around his nipples (and how fucking bizarre is it that someone like _Roy Mustang_ has _nipples?_ He’ll be just sitting behind his desk at HQ, giving orders, being smarmy, all the while having nipples like he’s some kind of… _normal_ human being instead of a…whatever it is that he is…) before sliding down and coming to rest over the scars that resulted from that one fight with Lust.

There is a trail of dark hair leading to Mustang’s cock, and that sort of boggles his mind because he is looking at Roy Mustang’s cock for fuck’s sake.

“You can touch,” Mustang murmurs, eyes intent on Ed and mouth quirked up at the corner when he looks up. “I want you to.”

So he does. If only to wipe that smirk off of his face. He wraps a hand around that silky hard length and feels somehow apart from himself. It’s longer than his (which doesn’t mean _anything,_ thank you _very_ _fucking much_ ) and a bit thicker, but Mustang makes the same noises that Ed makes when he strokes it lightly.

“Fullmetal,” Mustang breathes, and that’s good.

Good that they are still Mustang and Fullmetal, people who used to work together who have somehow fallen into bed. It’s too much, too personal, if they have somehow become Roy and Ed because this is only going to happen once.

Once is nothing.

Once is an aberration.

A mere single data point that leads to nothing if it never happens again. It’s mentioned in the footnotes as something interesting that was observed that one time and then ignored in favor of more relevant findings.

Ed can live with that.

He can live with the way heat rushes through him when Mustang’s firm hand wraps around his own hardness, stroking in tandem. And he can even live with the fact that the gloves have been discarded somewhere along with their boxers and pants and inhibitions.

“Do you want to come like this?” Mustang asks, lips hovering dangerously close to Ed’s own. “Or do you want…”

“You said we were making it count,” Ed counters, punctuating his words with a squeeze that draws a gasp from Mustang. Ed breathes it in. “I want everything. I want you to fuck me.”

It’s the alcohol talking most likely, because Ed doesn’t know enough about anything in this context to know that he wants everything. But he’s done it before, and he _knows_ that Mustang has, and it’s likely to be very good.

Apparently Mustang agrees because he is breaking away, leaning over and fumbling for something in the drawer of the nightstand.

Seeing that and knowing that it means they are going to do this awakens something primal in Ed. Something that definitely wants to make this good even if he can’t remember it in the morning. Something that will affect Mustang with his unshakeable certainty. So when Mustang turns back around, presumably clutching a bottle or tube of lubricant in his hand, Ed is on his elbows and knees, ass presented.

The choked noise the older man makes is enough to override any possible embarrassment that might have resulted from being so brazen, and he smiles into the sheets, wiggling his hips a bit. “Come on, then, Mustang,” he says. “I’m not getting any younger and you sure as hell aren’t.”

He has just enough time to wonder if this is one of those things that seems like a good idea until you are watching the fallout from it, before Mustang is on him. Hands that seem to burn caress the skin of his ass, squeezing and slapping. Ed gives a low moan, and that is encouragement enough, it seems. Mustang slaps his ass harder and then traces a finger around the rim of his entrance, spreading his cheeks wider and drinking in the sight.

And it’s a good thing Ed is well and truly drunk or he would not have been able to deal with this. As it is, it just makes him harder, needier, and he arches a bit, trying to subtly tell Mustang to get on with it.

Subtlety, it seems, is still useless.

“For fuck’s sake, Mustang,” Ed growls. “Are you going to fuck it or write it a poem?”

“You have a filthy mouth,” Mustang practically purrs.

“And you have an overinflated ego. We done stating the obvious now?”

Mustang laughs and removes his hands. Ed seriously considers putting on his clothes and walking out in a huff, but then the fingers return, only this time slick and enticing as they nudge at the furled hole.

He sucks in a breath when one finger penetrates him to the knuckle, spreading the slickness and preparing him for what comes next.

* * *

What comes next is a thorough exploration of the limits of what two people can do in one night.

Mustang fucks him, makes him come hard and fast right there. Ed gets him hard again by showing him exactly what he can do with his filthy mouth, and then he rides Mustang (thankfully too drunk and blissed out to make the requisite jokes the position inspires) to another completion, both of them sweaty and spent by the time they fall back against the bed in a sated heap.

Mustang is trailing fingers down Ed’s side as they both fight for breath, and Ed really doesn’t want to move. Knows he has to, of course, but feels completely justified in not wanting to. He knows that if he’s still in this ridiculous bed with this ridiculous man come morning, they will do this again. It will become a pattern, something statistically significant, and that is not what this is. It can’t be.

So he groans, sits up, and rakes a sticky hand through his hair before making a face.

“You could use the shower,” Mustang offers, showing no inclination to move at all.

“Might fall asleep in there if I try,” Ed points out.

“I could call you a cab. It’s late.”

Ed is off the bed at this point, hunting for his pants on the floor. He finds Mustang’s first, and fishes in the pocket for the silver watch, flipping it open and making another face at the time. “No shit. Too late for cabs. I can walk.”

“You’re drunk.”

“There you go stating the obvious again,” Ed says, but actually his head is clear. Mostly. At the very least he’s not drunk anymore.

“Ed.”

“Nope. No. I’m…this isn’t happening again.”

Mustang frowns. “I don’t see why that means you can’t stay the night.”

“Because it…you…it just does. I’m going.”

There isn’t a response, and Ed focuses on redressing himself properly. Al’s already going to be unbearably smug when Ed comes walking in at nearly two in the morning, smelling like sex and looking like he’s been thoroughly rumpled and ravished. He doesn’t need to have his fly open or something to add to it.

When he looks up, those dark eyes are on him, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in the window.

Mustang doesn’t say anything else as Ed heads toward the door.

Doesn’t ask him to stay.

So he goes.


	2. The Part Where Ed is Fucked

“Brother, are you still in bed? It’s already after three in the afternoon!”

“Alphonse, if you love me at all, you will leave me here to die.” Ed doesn’t have to be able to see his brother to imagine the look on his face. The blankets are unceremoniously yanked off of him, and he winces as sunlight slaps him in the face. “Goddammit, Al.”

“Ugh,” Al says, wrinkling his nose. “You smell like the combination of a brewery and a brothel. What have you been doing?”

Ed suddenly regrets the fact that Al hadn’t woken up when he’d come stumbling into their apartment at half past three in the morning. It would have been so much better to have this conversation when he was still warm and a bit floaty from alcohol and some very good orgasms. Now he is hungover and cranky and so not in the mood.

“What the hell do you know about brothels?” Ed mumbles, flopping onto his front and regretting it instantly when the contents of his stomach try to make their way up and out of him. “Fuck,” he groans and is out of bed as quickly as his sore and worn body can go, pushing past Al and making it to the bathroom just in time to vomit spectacularly into the toilet.

“At least it wasn’t the sink this time,” Al says from the doorway, and Ed knows that this is not going to be his day.

* * *

The trend continues when he finally stumbles into the kitchen, looking for water and something dry that can resemble breakfast, even though it’s practically evening. He has showered and managed to rid his mouth of the taste of bile and old socks, which is good, but Al is sitting at the table, which is not.

He spares a moment to feel bad for thinking like that about his brother, but then he sees the look on Al’s face, and retracts the remorse. Alphonse Elric can be ruthless when he wants to.

“So,” he begins. “You were out last night.”

Okay, that’s benign enough. “Yeah,” Ed replies. “Havoc caught me on my way home from the library, and wouldn’t let up until I agreed to have a drink with him and the guys.”

Al arches a brow. “The guys?”

“Yeah. You know. Havoc, Breda, Fuery. I think Fallman was there for a while, too. Um. Mustang.” And fuck it, that pause had better not have been telling. He rushes on just to try and cover it up. “Lieutenant Hawkeye wasn’t there, but you know she’s smarter than that, so. Do we have any cereal?”

“There’s that sugary stuff you like in the cabinet. And something with raisins, I think.”

Ed makes a face at the thought of raisins, but he’s not sure his stomach can handle mass quantities of sugar right now, so he goes for it. “So uh…what did you do last night?”

From the look on Al’s face, Ed isn’t fooling anyone, and he has to wonder where the fuck people learned to be sneaky and subtle and how he missed out on it. And then he remembers that he spent pretty much all of his formative years either preparing to make the biggest mistake of his life or cleaning up the aftermath of it, and suddenly he’s not very hungry anymore.

This isn’t a big deal.

Or it shouldn’t be.

He’s an adult, dammit. Eighteen years old and fully qualified to sleep with whoever he wants and then leave afterwards. Mustang has probably been doing it since before Ed was born, and there’s no way he’s standing in _his_ kitchen feeling guilty right now, so Ed shouldn’t be either.

It was just a thing. That happened. Once. And never again.

“Brother?” Al asks. “You’re doing that thing where you glare off into the distance again. Did something happen. With the colonel?”

“He’s a general now,” Ed offers off hand and then frowns. “Why? What makes you think something happened? Nothing happened.”

Al’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. Ed is so fucked. And not in the fun way that got him into this mess in the first place. “Something happened,” Al replies. “I can tell. You two either got into a fight or…” his eyes widen. “Brother. You didn’t. Did you? Oh, god, you did!”

“So what?” Ed snaps. “I can…do that if I want to. Don’t think I don’t know what you and Winry get up to when she comes to visit.”

At least his brother has the decency to blush at that. “No one said you couldn’t,” he points out. “You’re the one making it seem like it’s something illicit. Was it…not very good? Because I’ve heard some of the rumors, and there’s no way all of that can be true about him. It’s statistically impossible.”

“Improbable,” Ed corrects. “Some people are…he’s…it was…” Fuck, he has not had enough sleep to deal with this, and he says screw the cereal and goes for the coffee pot. “It was a one-time deal, so it’s not something we need to talk about. Ever. It can just…we can pretend it never happened.”

“Are you talking about ‘we’ as in the two of us, or ‘we’ as in you and the General Mustang?” Al asks.

“I…both. Either. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it happened and now it’s not happening, so it may as well not have happened. Okay?”

Al nods and gets up. “Sure. It didn’t happen. So I guess I shouldn’t bring it up when we see him later.”

Ed frowns at that. “What do you mean?”

“Brother,” Al says, and there is exasperation in both syllables. “It’s Saturday. We promised Sergeant Fuery we’d go to his housewarming thing, remember?”

And suddenly he does.

That explains why they were all drinking the night before, then.

Yep. Ed is so completely fucked.

* * *

His status as one who is fucked in all ways possible continues as Al forces him to wear his ‘nice clothes’, even though his head still aches, and he knows that this whole party is going to devolve into a drunken mess the minute Hawkeye walks out the door. And if he’s going to throw up, he’d rather do it in his comfortable clothes, thanks very much, although maybe he has sworn off drinking forever.

It makes him do _stupid_ things.

Like drink more.

And kiss…people who _he should not have been kissing at all because holy shit what was he thinking._ Only…it had been kind of nice.

But he is not thinking about it because it Never. Happened. So instead he takes time to make sure all of his buttons are done up correctly because the only thing that could make this night worse would be Mustang making some stupid comment about him being sloppy and linking it back to last night.

Except then the phone rings and Ed has to stand corrected.

“Brother!” Al calls down the hall. “Come talk to Winry. I need to finish getting dressed.”

Fuck his life. Just fuck it.

Winry is like Al in the way that she always knows when he is trying to hide something, but he already knows that avoiding her will make it worse, so he goes into the hall to grab the phone.

“Hey, Win.”

“Ed! How are you doing? Al says you guys are going to a party tonight?”

“Yeah. Sergeant Fuery just bought a house that isn’t infested with twenty years of military germs, so we’re gonna go over there and celebrate.”

“Sounds like you’ve already been celebrating,” Winry says, and Ed can just picture the face she would be making at him if she were there and not in Rush Valley.

Ed sighs. “They waylaid me on the way home last night to start the party early. My head feels like someone went at it with a mallet, so you can skip the lecture on drinking responsibly or whatever, because I am already filled with regret.”

To his relief Winry just laughs. “Well, it sounds like you had fun. You know, as reckless as you can be, you do deserve to have fun, Ed. You don’t have to regret _everything._ Unless you manage to break my automail while you’re out because then you will be in for a world of hurt.”

“I know, I know,” Ed replies, laughing as well. And sometimes he really does miss Winry.

“Brother, are you ready?” Al asks from his bedroom and Ed sighs again.

“Okay, we gotta go. Tell Granny we said hey if you talk to her before we do, and take care of yourself.”

“I will. Have fun tonight. Give Al a kiss for me.”

Ed makes a face. “Al is a precious baby who knows nothing of kissing and you won’t convince me otherwise.” He hangs up as Winry laughs and finds that he does feel a little bit better. Maybe this night won’t be terrible.

* * *

For a while, it isn’t.

Gracia has cooked all manner of delicious things for the party, and clearly Breda and Havoc have had something to do with the planning because the food is in mass quantities and there is more alcohol than Ed knows what to do with. He ignores that table for a while, as well as the jibes from Havoc about his tolerance and spends some time in the rather nice kitchen with Al, catching up with Gracia.

Eventually she extracts a promise that they will come for dinner soon and shoos them off into the living room to rejoin the party.

By this time, Mustang has arrived, looking windblown and edible, and Ed’s mouth goes dry as he has a sudden flashback that reminds him that he knows exactly what the man tastes like. His heart leaps into his throat, and he fidgets nervously next to Al because he has no clue what the protocol is here.

He’s never had to deal with the aftermath of a one nighter before.

His thing with Ling was short-lived not because they wanted it to be but because of duties and promises and they still write to each other often. They certainly aren’t pretending like it never happened.

Ed doesn’t know how Mustang operates when it comes to things like this. He has heard plenty of stories about the man’s conquests, so clearly he’s not as closed mouthed about sex as he is about other things, but Ed still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

How do you greet someone you used to be perfectly comfortable around the night after you slept together?

_Hey, Mustang. Thanks for the orgasms last night._

_Hey, Mustang. My head hurts and my ass is kinda sore. Totally your fault, I think we can call it even._

_Hey, Mustang. Nice to see you for the first time this week because it has been a while because we_ did not _have sex last night._

Nah. None of those feel right.

In the end, his worrying is for nothing because it seems that Mustang’s way of dealing with it is to not deal with it. He makes the rounds of the room, greeting everyone and presenting Fuery with a bottle of nice wine as a gift, which he puts next to the houseplant that is apparently Ed and Al’s gift.

Ed braces himself when Mustang comes over to them, ready to be defensive if he has to.

“Hello, Alphonse, Fullmetal. It’s good to see you both.”

Next to him Al arches that damned eyebrow and then smiles. “Hello, General Mustang. It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

Mustang laughs that stupid warm, rich laugh that Ed thinks he can feel all the way to his toes (even the metal ones _goddammit_ ) and offers Al a smile. “I’ve been well. Lieutenant Hawkeye makes sure of that. And yourself? Your brother says that you’ve been thinking about going into teaching.”

Ed does remember saying that, somewhere between his second and third beers when Mustang had been looking at him with those damned smoldery eyes and acting like they were the only two people in the entire bar.

Now the bastard won’t even look at him, his dark eyes trained on Alphonse as if Ed is no more than a boring end table next to him.

“I need a drink,” Ed mumbles and moves away.

Honestly, he doesn’t know what he expected. They had both agreed that it would only happen once. That it would not become a pattern. And he himself had told Al that afternoon that it might as well have never happened in the first place.

This is what he _wants_ , dammit, and it’s certainly better than Mustang bragging about it and spreading the tale to everyone they know. Knowing him, he’d make it sound like he seduced Ed and then rocked his world and ruined him for anyone else. Because that’s just the sort of smirky, smarmy bastard Roy Mustang is.

Except…

No. No exceptions. Exceptions fuck things up.

“Hey, Boss, you okay?”

Ed looks up to see Havoc standing over him, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Yeah,” Ed replies. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh…because you’re sitting in the corner with a bottle of tequila in front of you?” Havoc says. “And sort of glaring off into space.”

Dammit, he has got to stop doing that. Ed glances around him and sees that the party is still going strong. Al is chatting with Hawkeye, and Breda seems to be trying to tempt Fallman into an eating competition, although he should know by now that Fallman is much too smart to take him up on that. Fuery is laughing with Gracia, and Mustang is nowhere to be found. Not that Ed cares.

“Y’know, the general’s been out of sorts today, too,” Havoc remarks.

“Has he? Seemed like his usual bastardly self to me,” Ed mutters.

Havoc shakes his head. “Nope. He was almost moping in the car on the ride over here. Wouldn’t tell me why, either. I’d figure that he got dumped or something, only he hasn’t been out with anyone in a long time. Spends most of his time at the office, these days.”

Ed doesn’t know how he’s meant to feel about that information. It’s obvious enough that whatever Mustang’s issue is, it doesn’t have anything to do with Ed. If it did, the persistent fuck would have tried to talk to him or did more than just look at Ed like he was beneath his notice. He’s probably just mad that he had the poor luck to end up in bed with Ed in the first place and doesn’t want to be reminded of it.

Well, fine. That’s just fucking peachy.

It’s what he wants, after all.

The mystery of where Mustang has gone is solved when Ed finally forces himself to leave his corner and heads down the hall to the bathroom. Mustang has just exited it, or maybe he’s been standing in the hall the whole time, but he turns when Ed gets closer to him.

“Been drinking again?” he asks, dark eyes intent.

“Not really,” Ed replies. “My head’s still punishing me for last night.”

It looks like Mustang is waiting for him to say more, and when he doesn’t the man sighs. “I have. Been drinking, that is. Havoc is driving tonight, and I feel the need to indulge.”

Ed shrugs. “Knock yourself out, then. I gotta pee.”

“Edward…Fullmetal…” Mustang hesitates and then takes a step closer to him. Edward instinctively backs up and finds himself backed against a wall with Mustang advancing on him for the second time in as many days. Instantly he is thinking of the night before: hands roaming, mouths moving in tandem, and he thinks he’s having trouble breathing.

“I…I need to…” Fuck. Why can’t he make words come out properly? What is it about this fucking man that turns him into a stammering moron?

A warm, ungloved hand tips his chin up and then familiar lips are pressed to his.

For a moment Ed can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t _think._ Mustang tastes like whisky and desire, and in the next moment he’s giving into it. He’s kissing him back and curling his fingers in the fabric of Mustang’s shirt, pulling him closer. Because it’s good. It’s so good. Together they create sparks and the kind of reactions that Ed reads about, _dreams_ about, and he feels it all the way to his bones how much he could want this man if he let himself.

A bark of laughter from the other room brings him back to his senses, and he gasps, pushing Mustang away from him.

They stare at each other for a moment, heat and the weight of things left unfinished burning between them until Ed moves. He flees to the bathroom, slamming the door and pressing himself against it, breathing hard. When he licks his lips, he can still taste Mustang there, and he shuts his eyes, dragging in deep breaths.

“No, no, no,” he chants. He’s not going to be one of those people who falls all over Roy Mustang. He’s _not_. He’s Edward Elric. He has stared Truth full in the face; he’s fought chimera and homunculi and humans with god complexes.

Roy Mustang is just a man.

Ed stays in the bathroom until his heart stops pounding, and when he finally peeks out into the hall, Mustang is gone.


	3. The Part Where Mustang Persists. Significantly.

Looking back, Ed is glad that he didn’t actually have much of his appropriated bottle of tequila at the party. He spends the next few days throwing himself into his research, and not being hungover makes that much easier. He holes himself up in the library, surrounded by books and quiet and peace and loses himself in reading about arrays and elements and the balance of power that goes along with complicated transmutations.

Doing research about alchemy has always cleared his head and made him feel better, no matter what other bullshit is going on, and this is no exception.

He doesn’t have to see Mustang or think about him or relive the way it had felt to be touched and kissed and…

Ugh.

Okay, so maybe he thinks about it a little.

But he hates himself for it. Because he doesn’t know why he can’t just get over this. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or what Mustang wants, and apparently Ed is only good enough for kissing and whatever else when the man is drunk. Mustang has no doubt moved on to someone who is less complicated and less…whatever than Ed is. Someone who is fine with being picked up and put down at a whim.

And that’s fine. Because Ed has Al and alchemy research, and he doesn’t need sex no matter how good it was.

“So you can just go fuck yourself,” he mutters and picks up his pen again.

“I don’t think it’s physically possible for a book to do that,” a mild voice breaks in, and Ed jumps, his peace shattered.

He looks up and sees Mustang (because of course it’s Mustang. When has the universe ever been kind to him?) standing there looking slightly apprehensive.

“Wasn’t talking about the book,” Ed says and then sighs. “Is there a reason you’re bothering me? I don’t think you’ve been in a library since I’ve known you.”

Mustang laughs softly, and something low in Ed tightens. What the fuck has this man done to him? “You forget that I am an alchemist still, Fullmetal. I had to read some of the same books that you did.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Ed says. “You want something? Or are you just hiding from Hawkeye in the last place she’d ever look for you?”

There is a hesitancy in Mustang’s face that Ed isn’t used to seeing, and he watches the man closely.

“I…was wondering if you would have dinner with me. I’d like to speak with you about something.”

Ed’s heart takes up residence in his throat, and he has to swallow hard in order to make words come out. Because his carefully constructed plan to avoid the man and not give a fuck does not allow for things like dinner and private conversation.

“No time,” Ed replies, closing his books and shoving some into his bag, thankful that he had already checked out the ones he needed. “Research to do and stuff. And I’m sure you’ve got stuff and people to do, too, so.” He gets to his feet and doesn’t look at Mustang as he slings the bag over his shoulder. Ed doesn’t want to see his expression.

* * *

“Brother, are you okay?” Al asks over Xingese takeout that night.

Ed looks up from where he has been mashing noodles into a pulp in the corner of the container and nods. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re mutilating your noodles, and the dumplings have been sitting within a foot of you for the last ten minutes, and you haven’t had one.” Al puts down his chopsticks and pins Ed with a look. “You’ve been out of sorts since…well, since you slept with the general. And I know we’re supposed to be pretending that it never happened, but I’m worried about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Al,” Ed says. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just…thinking. About stuff.”

“About how he kissed you at the party?”

“How’d you know about _that_?”

Al shrugs. “I saw it. I was coming to check on you, and I saw him kiss you. You looked like you were enjoying it for little while.”

Ed puts down his fork and sighs. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why isn’t it? You like him, he likes you. I don’t see the problem.”

“Because he doesn’t like _me._ He likes sex. He likes people who have sex with him.” Ed swallows hard and looks at his brother. “I mean, think about it, Al. Why would he choose to be with me if he could have some…pliant air head chick or something? Someone who’ll fawn all over him and stroke his fucking ego. That’s what he wants.”

To his consternation, Al laughs. “Ed, I don’t think you know him very well at all. I think that if Mustang just wanted easy sex, then you would be the last person he would go after.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ed asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing, brother. Just…maybe have an open mind. That’s all I’m saying.”

Al just doesn’t get it. It has nothing to do with having an open mind at all. Ed _does_ know Mustang. He knows that he could have whoever he wanted at the drop of a goddamned hat, and it makes no sense for him to actually want Ed when he’s sober and aware of what he’s doing. And even if he did, Ed’s not going to be his plaything. He has too much to do to get wrapped up in Roy Mustang and his ego and…and…yeah.

That’s just how it has to be.

* * *

“Edward.”

“For the love of…what are you doing here?”

It has been three days since he turned Mustang down in the library and the lack of follow up had convinced Ed that perhaps he would be safe from further run ins with the man. At least until he has figured out a way to get him out of his system. Until he could face him and not feel that tugging in his stomach and not feel the phantom warmth of those hands all over him.

But having Roy Mustang sitting on the stairs that lead up to Ed and Al’s apartment undoes all of the work Ed has done to forget what happened between them.

Because he’s arresting, really. Mustang is like an immovable object that Ed can’t stop smashing against because his momentum isn’t strong enough to break through. And it should be. He should be strong enough to resist and ignore and forget, but then those stupid eyes find his, and Ed feels his resolve start to melt.

“I want to talk to you.”

“So talk then, bastard,” Ed growls. “I don’t have all day. Night. Whatever.”

Mustang sighs and gets to his feet, waving a hand for Ed to precede him up the stairs. “I believe your apartment might be a better place for this conversation.”

“Fucking…goddamned…stupid…” Ed huffs, but stomps his way up the stairs and unlocks the door. Al isn’t home yet, and that’s just fucking great. Now he can be alone with Mustang while he says whatever the hell it is he came here to say.

Once they are inside, Ed slams the door and turns to face the man, arms folded. “Well?”

“You’re angry with me.”

“What is it with you and stating the goddamned obvious?” Ed demands.

“Then you do remember.”

That gives Ed pause, and he blinks up at Mustang. “What?”

“Friday night. I had wondered if you’d been too drunk to remember what happened.”

Ed blinks again, and then all at once he is laughing. “You thought _I_ forgot? You’re the one who was acting like it was nothing.”

Mustang frowns. “When did I…”

“At Fuery’s party. You barely even looked at me one fucking time. It was like nothing had even happened at all. Until you got drunk and kissed me, anyway. And by the way? That’s really shitty. I’m not just going to stand still and let you feel me up whenever you’re drunk and horny.”

“I was hardly going to mention it in front of your brother, and anyway I thought that was how you preferred it. You were the one who said that you only wanted it to happen one time,” Mustang points out, and then Ed isn’t laughing anymore.

“I know that!” he snaps before Mustang can say anything else, balling his hands into fists. “I know what I said. But that doesn’t mean that you had to ignore me like I was some kind of…mistake! We still coulda talked and stuff. Or am I not worth your time if I don’t let you fuck me?”

The room is silent for a moment as Mustang seems to process that, and then he is frowning harder. “Is _that_ what you think? That I stop talking to people who won’t sleep with me? I kissed you.”

“I don’t fucking know, Mustang! I don’t know how this works! And you seemed pretty fucking content to act like I didn’t exist, so what the hell else was I supposed to think? And you kissed me when you were drunk! What the _hell_ was I supposed to _think_?”

“That maybe I found the situation as awkward as you did? That perhaps, just perhaps, I was unsure of what to say to the person who I watched walk out of my house at two in the morning. I didn’t know what you wanted, Edward. I still don’t. But this…this not talking about it is clearly not working.”

Ed doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing at all. Instead he stares at the floor, picking out patterns in the carpet because that’s easier than trying to work through the tangle of emotions and thoughts in his head.

“Did it mean nothing to you?” Mustang asks after a moment, and his voice is so quiet that it makes Ed look back up.

“What?”

“That night. I…cannot claim to know your experience with these things, but I thought… You have always seemed to be the kind of person who wouldn’t do something unless it had meaning. Unless it was going to mean something to you. I just wonder if that night was the exception to this.”

The… _hurt_ in Mustang’s voice is incongruous with the image Ed has in his head of the man. He doesn’t think he has ever heard him sound like this or seen him look so vulnerable. And it hits him that _he_ has the power in this moment. He can tell Mustang to fuck off, and he’s likely to listen and go. He can end all of this right now and never have to deal with it again outside of his own head and maybe some awkward interactions in the future.

But then he remembers Al telling him to keep an open mind and remembers the way Mustang tastes, and he sighs.  

“I don’t understand,” he admits. “I thought that you…that you did things like this all the time. Took people to your bed and then…forgot about them.”

“Perhaps in the past. But you have to know that some of the rumors about me are less than true. I am not heartless, Edward. And I wouldn’t have…You are not the kind of person I would take to bed with the intention of it being simple.”

“Why do people keep saying that? What the hell is that supposed to _mean_?” Ed demands, making a face.

Mustang laughs. “It means that you are difficult on a good day. I am sorry that I seem to only approach you when I’m intoxicated. It’s not my intention to make you think that I want a drunken fuck and that’s all. It’s just…easier to be confident, to get out of my own head, when I’ve had a few drinks. I want you to know that I will respect it if you want that night to be the only time you end up in my bed. But I do wish you would reconsider or at the very least stop avoiding me.”

“Why?”

And it’s an important question. He wants to know the answer, wants to know why Mustang has put himself out like this, knowing that Ed can throw it back in his face and make him regret it.

“Because, Edward, you aren’t the type of person someone has one night stands with,” Mustang replies. “I didn’t intend for the night to go the way it did when I started talking to you at the bar, though I can’t bring myself to regret that it happened. I had hoped to try to convince you to give it at least another try, but you were out the door so fast that I didn’t get the chance.”

“What type of person am I, then?”

Mustang smiles and takes a step closer to him. “You, Edward Elric, are the type of person that one tries their hardest to be worthy of. The type of person that one hopes will keep coming back because a single night with you could never, never be enough. Not when there are endless possibilities, each more tempting than the first.”

Ed’s eyes go wide at that, and he leans back a bit. There’s no wall at his back this time, and he sort of wishes there were because he feels like he is going to lose his footing at any moment. “I…I’m not going to…to be one of those people who sits by the phone, waiting for you to pay attention to them.”

“If you think I expect that of you, then I truly have been remiss in making you aware of my intentions,” Mustang says.

“Well, duh.”

They look at each other for a moment and then Mustang shakes his head. “I think I forget sometimes that for all you are a genius and have experienced things far beyond your years, you are not as well versed in everything as you are in alchemy.”

Ed makes a face. “Do you ever stop talking like you’re blowing the dictionary and just say what you mean? All this talking in circles shit is giving me a headache.”

That draws a laugh from the older man and he nods. “You may have a point. Very well. What I am trying to say is that I want whatever you want to give me, Edward. I agreed to the one night stipulation because I thought it was all I could have. I thought it would be better than never having you. But it isn’t. Because I keep thinking about it and you and wanting more. I want you for as long as you will allow it.”

“S-since when?” Ed stammers, eyes wide. What the hell is he even supposed to _say_ to that? No one has ever spoken to him like this before. No one has ever _wanted_ him like this. At least he doesn’t think so. Not someone who could have any other person they wanted at least.

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Mustang admits. “I only recently realized it. But that night…you were incredible. And it isn’t just about the sex. Let me make that clear before you start yelling at me again. It’s _you,_ Ed. You’re…a force. You are something that I want.”

Ed tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He is so confused, so set adrift in unfamiliar waters. None of this has gone as he thought it would, and he’s suddenly being handed things that he only recently has realized that he wants. And from Roy Mustang of all people. He knows the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t say all of this if he didn’t mean it.

He’s not sure what to say. But then, talking has never been one of his strong points. Not when it comes to emotions and feelings and things that feel sort of fragile like this does.

So instead he closes the remaining distance. He fists his hands in front of Mustang’s uniform jacket and he pulls. Action has always been more his thing anyway.

When their lips meet, it is far from perfect. It is messy, and it takes a few good seconds for them to make their teeth stop clicking together and to find the right rhythm. It’s symbolic, Ed thinks. It’s them. Fullmetal and Mustang. Ed and Roy. Who really aren’t all that different, it would seem.

Mustang is just as good a kisser sober as he is when he is drunk, and he still tastes good. He is still warm and solid against Ed’s front, and when his arms come to wrap around Ed’s waist, he lets them.

Lets his own arms come up to wrap around Mustang’s neck.

Lets himself melt a little into the kiss.

Lets this be significant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote, friends. All I wrote, to be specific. Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments on this fic. It was such a random decision to write it, and I'm so glad that it was received well. *blows you all a million kisses*


End file.
